childhood
by lydiaastilinski
Summary: It's my personal head canon that Stiles and Lydia had countless encounters over their childhood years. Stiles was perpetually trying to get Lydia's attention, and she pretended to hate it. This will be a series of random moments throughout their childhood as Stiles pursues the beautiful strawberry blonde of his dreams.
1. eight

He's eight the first time he sees her.

He doesn't really know how he managed to miss her for so long. It was true they'd never had the same teacher, but surely he should have spotted her on the playground before now. She's beautiful with her strawberry blonde hair - punctuated perfectly with a pretty bow floating atop her head - and bright green eyes. As she strolls across the playground amidst her friends, laughing and chatting and looking every bit a princess of their third grade class, he finds himself mesmerized. He can't take his eyes off her - especially not when she steers herself directly towards him.

"Get off," she commands, her tone firm and her eyes challenging.

Well, those certainly weren't the first words he expected out of her mouth, but at least she'd spoken to him. It was a start, okay?

"Why should I?" He challenges, mainly because he wants an excuse to talk to her. She's pretty and the sunlight looks so nice shining on her hair. Maybe he should write her a love letter when he gets back to class. Yeah, he'll do that.

"Because I want to swing. Get off." Her eyes have narrowed just a little, and she gives a flick of those gorgeous curls as she says it. He can tell she's tense, probably because her friends are watching the exchange with wide eyes, and he has a feeling people don't argue with her often. She has that air about her.

"Tell me your name first." Smooth. Yes, this is good. Stiles can't keep a wide grin off his lips as he continues to watch her, wondering whether she will grace him with her name. He hopes she will.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she spins around with a huff and heads off in the direction she came. He immediately regrets not giving up his spot, his eyes slipping closed as he mentally yells at himself for not letting the pretty girl swing. It was a dumb -

His train of thought is interrupted when, rather abruptly, he's shoved from his spot on the swing.

Sputtering dirt, Stiles slowly lifts his head.

And sees her.

In all of her gorgeous glory, sitting in the very swing he'd just been perched upon, a smile on her lips, he sees her. "I wanted to swing," she informs him, which - of course - causes her friends to giggle. With a dismissive shrug of her shoulders, she pushes off from the ground and begins to swing, nearly kicking him in the head in the process.

He knows better than to argue. He'd probably just get tongue-tied, and her friends are there to back her up anyway. Instead, he simply stands, dusts off his clothes, and turns to walk away.

"My name is Lydia, by the way," she calls, her voice sugary sweet and utterly innocent.

Lydia.

Lydia.

It's the perfect name for the perfect girl.


	2. ten

They're ten when his mother dies.

She hasn't spoken to him in over a year, so she really doesn't have a right to show up at his house unannounced. It's possible he's forgotten about her entirely, given the perpetual cold shoulder she insists on turning his way, but she has to try.

She doesn't understand why, but she has to try.

Lydia's hands tremble as she lifts one to knock on his front door. There are several cars out front, and she knows her mother must be wondering where she went, so she shouldn't - can't - stay long. Maybe it's better this way, though. A quick apology and then she can be on her way.

The sheriff answers the door, and she's surprised to find he doesn't seem too shocked to see a trembling Lydia Martin on his doorstep. He offers her a half-hearted smile - one that doesn't quite reach his eyes - before turning and calling his son's name.

It takes several seconds for Stiles to appear, but when he does, Lydia's pretty sure she stops breathing.

"Hey," she whispers, bright green eyes flickering over his features. He looks tired, worn, broken. Can she blame him, though? His mother died less than twenty-four hours ago, and her mom says he was at her side when it happened. Even though everyone knew it was coming, she knows this can't be easy for him.

His dad excuses himself, and Stiles steps out onto the porch. They're silent for a few minutes, Lydia nervously wringing her hands together in front of her, before she takes an uncertain step towards him. He watches her, a mixture of curiosity and sadness in his gaze, before they impulsively reach for each other at the same time. His hands are on her waist and her arms are around his neck before either of them really decide to move.

They stand like that for a long time, and Lydia pretends not to notice the way his shoulders shake under her touch. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't feel like she really has to, anyway. It's enough - this hug, this gesture, it's enough.

Finally, Stiles halfheartedly pulls away and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hands. "Why did you come?" He asks, puffy eyes finding hers a second later. It's a valid question, but it's one she hoped he wouldn't ask. It's one she isn't prepared to answer.

"My mom insisted," she lies, and she can see the disappointment wash over him. Stupid, stupid, stupid - his mom just died and you're making it worse!, the voice in her head yells, but she ignores it. She can't let him think she actually wanted to come here and comfort him. That would just be preposterous.

They shift their weight awkwardly for a few more seconds, before he gestures for her to take a seat beside him on the steps. She considers turning him down and walking back to her house - seriously, her mom is going to be worried - but she can't. Not when he's looking at her like she's his lifeline; the one and only reason he's still breathing.

So, instead, she sits, their shoulders brushing as she does. Neither of them look at one another, instead staring straight ahead as if this is totally normal, the two of them hanging out in the late evening air.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She finally asks, her voice soft. Warily, Lydia glances his way, only to see him shake his head.

"No. I don't."

Lydia nods, accepting his answer, and the two fall silent once more. It isn't an awkward silence, though - not even when he reaches over to take her hand, his fingers cold and clammy as they slip through hers. She should pull away, and maybe she will in a few minutes, but for now?

For now, she'll sit next to this boy - the boy - and forget about anything else. She can't offer him words of comfort, nor can she promise she'll even look his way when the sun rises tomorrow, but she can sit with him and pretend everything will be okay.

And maybe, just maybe, it will be. Not today, and not tomorrow, but maybe they'll be okay in the end.

She can hope, anyway.


End file.
